


Flash & Legends Prompt Fills

by Tobyaudax



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Body Horror, Established Relationship, Fake Science, Frostbite, Hugging, Hypothermia, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Panic Attack (mild implied), Polyamory, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobyaudax/pseuds/Tobyaudax
Summary: Old-ass tumblr prompts, recently completed (as of early 2019). Each chapter is stand-alone, its own universe, unless otherwise mentioned in the Notes.





	1. ColdFlash - Trembling

**Author's Note:**

> Dialog Prompt: "You're trembling." ColdFlash, Barry Allen/Leonard Snart.

When something looked like it was too easy, it probably wasn't. Leonard Snart had been on a lot of jobs over the years that seemed "simple enough", but quickly escalated into shit shows. Few of those jobs had been under his direction (everybody starts somewhere), most were with Lewis at the helm, and every one of them Len had learned from. It was part of why he was the best at what he did. It was also how he'd gotten so cocky over the years, some might even say "sloppy"- just nowhere that Len would hear them.

It wasn't often that he got in over his head, especially at that point in his "career" and on a job he'd been planning for three months, but it also wasn't impossible. He'd been stretched pretty thin the past few years: reconciling with Mick, facing off against the Flash, and… Lewis. And considering the Waverider disasters and escaping the time stream (mostly) unscathed, anyone could be expected to make a simple mistake. Even him.

He got the idea from a program on PBS, those three months prior. The TV was on for background noise, something innocuous to make the wide, open floor plan feel less looming. He didn't pay attention to the whole show, only looking up when the discussion mentioned absolute zero. The cold gun had been working just fine, but there was always room for improvement. And, as luck would have it, there was a facility nearby that was working with cryogenic technology of the sort that Len could use. He refused to believe in fate or destiny, but luck was something he didn't pass up.

The lab complex had been set-up a few blocks from his current apartment, a building that just barely fit the definition of the word. He was squatting in a shambling, nearly-condemned train station that had been converted into townhouses decades earlier. The economy and slumliness of the closest neighborhood had gradually emptied the place, making it a great temporary residence for a super villain. Since the surrounding area was so desolate, it wasn't hard to miss the shiny new equipment that was trafficked through; even easier to help himself to the complex's up-to-date blueprints and schedule of the miniscule security detail.

He never considered bringing Lisa or Mick in, mainly because it was a more personal job, exclusively for upgrades to his weapon. Lisa would get bored and risk going off on her own, into uncharted areas, but she was in Gotham for reasons Len had yet to ferret out. Mick was excluded because, well, Len would never admit it out loud, but he was mad at his partner for integrating so well with the Legends. Mick had even been pardoned by the President while Len was drifting ( _struggling, suffering, dying over and over_ ) in the time stream! So there was no need to rebuild his partner's criminal record for something Mick couldn't even enjoy. It had been a while since Len's last solo job and maybe that was the first mistake.

Ever since his late 20s and finally breaking away from Lewis, Len had worked with a crew; never less than two other people, usually four, total, so everyone had their back watched. Going alone was a bigger risk, though Len rationalized both during planning and while he made his way through the tunnel system under the lab complex that that only made it more challenging. He'd been sorely lacking in challenges since he'd come back (to life and to Central City) and the thrill of the heist practically sang in his blood. There was such a small chance he'd have to use the cold gun that he'd left it well-hidden in the apartment, bringing instead a gun with rubber bullets. The guards in the facility above him (in front of him, now) were only armed with nightsticks and tazers- things Len didn't intend for anyone to get close enough, let alone see him, to use.

Two guns with real bullets were left with the cold gun, though Len had debated taking the Ruger on the job. He reasoned that since he'd died, his deal with Barry had been nullified. "Till death do us part," he'd laughed, and put the gun away. And in the incredibly slim chance that Flash showed up, Len already had a non-lethal diversion. Without the cold gun to set off whatever sensors were set up in STAR Labs to warn Barry and his crew, Len could slip in and out with the necessary parts and chemicals before the cryogenics personnel even knew he'd been there. That had been the plan, anyway.

Security was where he'd expected them when he entered the main building, and the camera blind spots were so easy to slip into, he could have done it without consulting the installation contract. The items on his grocery list were in two locations, at opposite ends of the hallway. He would pick up the chemicals, first, since they were furthest from his planned exit, then grab the machinery on his way out.

With deft, nimble hands, Len carefully packed a few vials into the inside pocket of his jacket, then headed out and down the hall to the machinery room. A persistent tingling sensation had started around his midsection when he entered, but Len attributed that to adrenalin and the thrill he got from a heist well-executed. He had loaded the parts into his small messenger bag and was triple checking the room for fibers or other evidence he might have left when the pain hit him.

Pain was nothing new in his life, but the prickling, burning sensation was enough to make him stumble. It was unexpected, but he could power through it and check himself over once he returned to the tunnels beneath the complex. Or back in his apartment. It reminded him of a pulled muscle, touching bare skin to cold metal, and being stabbed in the gut- all things he'd been able to move and fight past before. But by the time he got back into the tunnels, he was crawling one-handed, the other held tight to his stomach, where the sensation had spread, leaving a trail of numbness. Pins and needles, limbs falling asleep due to cramped quarters or forced stillness, had never been so painful. He lost consciousness for a few seconds under the labs, then again when he got to where he'd hidden his motorcycle. Whatever was happening to him, he was apparently in no shape to drive.

He collapsed next to the bike and pawed at his jacket with thick-feeling, clumsy fingers, trying to determine where he'd been hurt and by what. His fingers retained enough sensation and dexterity to dig out the vials and Len stared at them dumbly, watching as the now bright blue chemicals leaked down his jacket sleeve and all over him. The lids hadn't been properly sealed and he hadn't bothered to check. The tingling and pain gave way to heavy numbness, the chemicals spreading and soaking into his clothes. The places where the liquid had touched bare skin longest bloomed from red to purple to black and he shivered uncontrollably even as he felt like he was burning all over.

The last thing Len thought as he died was,  _Not again_.

\--

Waking up happened in stages and took long enough that Len realized he probably hadn't died. The odds of him dying and coming back twice were pretty much impossible. At least not so soon after he'd done it the first time. He sat up slowly, his body stiff and protesting every movement. It felt like he'd slept all morning on the cold ground, but the light on the horizon indicated he'd been passed out for less than an hour.  _Wait. Cold ground..?_  He lurched to his feet and turned in a slow circle, taking in the inches of snow that he'd been laying in and that extended outward in a roughly two-foot radius. It was the middle of June and despite climate changes' best efforts, it had never snowed in Missouri past May. Especially not in such an isolated location.

Len dug through the snow and gathered up his discarded gloves- it bothered him that he didn't remember taking them off- and the now-broken pieces of the vials he'd stolen. The chemicals they'd held were gone and had left no evidence on the ground that he could see. He would just have to risk leaving something behind; it was too dark for a thorough investigation. And even though the cryo lab wouldn't open again for several hours, the possibility that someone had witnessed him after he'd fallen asleep (dropped into a coma- he'd never slept so soundly in his life) was too great for him to stick around any longer than he already had.

He didn't bother dusting off his bike; just swung a still-clumsy leg over and took off on a longer, winding route back to the abandoned townhouses. The snow on the seat didn't melt as he rode and once back at his hideout, Len stood beside his bike and watched as the ice crystals shrank and evaporated in the early morning sunlight. The temperature rose around him, but Len never got any warmer. He couldn't suppress his shivers once inside and that made it difficult to go over his plans and the job, find exactly where things had gone wrong. He also had to figure out the full effect of the chemicals that had spilled on him… and why they hadn't killed him like they probably should've.

The simplest explanation was a lazy lab technician, but that wound up putting some blame on Len, as well, for not taking a few spare seconds to check the containers. A simple, stupid mistake that he was too old and experienced to have made. He let out a frustrated sigh and braced himself on the table that was still covered with blueprints, frowning as he caught sight of his black fingers and backs of his hands.  _Thought I took those off_. He pushed back the sleeve of his jacket to remove the gloves he swore were taken off sometime between leaving the lab and passing out and recoiled when he was met with the touch of his own cold skin.

Still freezing and shaking, Len tore his coat off and threw it on the floor, sliding the sleeves of his thermal shirt up with palsied hands. The discoloration went up his arms, disappearing as far as his sleeves could be moved, so Len wriggled out of his shirt, shouting at the frigid air in the townhouse on his bare skin. He stumbled into the bathroom, dropping his shirt and fumbling repeatedly with the switch before flooding the room with cold, white light. His reflection stared back at him in horror as he observed that his arms were black nearly all the way to his shoulders, tendrils of it spreading like a jellyfish across his chest and back. The parts of his abdomen where the chemicals had first touched him were just as black, those veins reaching out all around the point of contact. The skin that was unaffected had become sickly pale, like the final stages of a healing bruise.

He stared at his hands, willing them to move with the dexterity of only hours ago, but they stubbornly refused. His fingers barely flexed, bending on a delay, and he flashed back to the moment (a month, three years, a lifetime ago) he'd had to freeze his hand off. His stomach lurched and a pathetic little moan escaped from between tightly clenched teeth.

The light bulb and mirror both were dusty, but he knew neither could account for how white all his visible hair had turned. His eyes when he finally dared to look were as milky as a corpse's, the blue of his irises muted and muddy. For the first time in 30 years (the last time only because he'd caught the flu), Len vomited. He gripped the edges of the sink as he puked into the bowl, his knees threatening to buckle. His knuckles ached from the cold and pressure he was exerting and when he moved a hand to turn on the water and wash away the bile, he noticed a sheen of ice over the cracked porcelain. His other hand was pried loose and the area underneath was just as frozen. The only explanation was the chemicals and his own careless stupidity.

_I'm better than this_ , he thought as he crumpled to the bathroom floor.  _I'm supposed to be better than this_.

His back stuck to the wall, nearly freezing him in place before he jerked a shoulder free. Visions of muscle damage and skin that might not heal had him move away from the tile more carefully. Len made his way out of the bathroom, turning back and nearly falling over in retrieving his discarded shirt. He bundled up in the warmest clothes he had, dressing on autopilot as his mind fought back panic and worst-case scenarios. Options, he had to go over his options. He could return to the lab and examine the chemicals more carefully, look for something to counteract the cocktail that was, for lack of any better word, transforming him. Despite how recently he'd robbed them, they wouldn't be expecting the thief to return so soon, or likely at all, but the place would be crawling with cops. And if Barry was the CSI on the case, it wouldn't take him long to figure out who had done it.

Many of the things happening to him looked and felt like hypothermia or frostbite, so he could treat the symptoms accordingly. Simple solutions to simple problems- could he be that lucky? Len snorted and returned to the bathroom to start filling the tub with warm water; a little luck couldn’t hurt.

The bath did little more than loosen his stiff joints and temporarily stopped the spread of discoloration on his arms and torso. Further treatment of his symptoms and two more plans were discarded as he paced around the living room. He kept telling himself he would figure something out, but as snow crunched beneath his boots and the room frosted over, he believed it less. By sundown, all he could think of was controlling his new abilities so he didn't kill Lisa (or Mick).

Control was one of the things he did best and, like the accident itself, it should be simple. He would figure out how to turn the damn snow off, how to get more than dull sensations back into his hands, and then he wouldn't even need the cold gun-  _he_  was the cold gun, now! Power and controlling it- easy.

Of course nothing had been easy since he'd broken free of the time stream, so he shouldn't have been surprised that he didn't wrestle his new powers under control right away. He'd managed to get his body temperature up- closer to normal, but still dangerously low- and just stopped the air around him from freezing and snowing. He should've expected the Flash would show up sooner rather than later, as well. If he'd taken some time to plan, maybe he wouldn't have iced Barry to the wall when he was startled by the hero's sudden appearance in his living room.

\----

Julian provided Barry with the first clue that something was up. While Barry hadn't been assigned the break-in at the cryogenics lab that morning, he was working his own case when Julian returned and started recording verbal notes. The list of stolen chemicals he rattled off sounded vaguely familiar, but Barry quickly lost focus when a series of matches for the boot print he was researching came up. It was late in the afternoon when he came back to the cryo lab information, asking Julian if he could take a peek at the other man's case.

"Just curious," he'd shrugged when Julian asked why. And he had been- he and Julian had long-since built a friendship and found a rhythm to working together and rarely looked at the same case at the same time. Julian had sighed and put up a token argument, but he was smiling when he handed his report over; neatly typed and without a condiment stain in sight. Barry wished he could keep his own notes so tidy. He scanned the details- too few now to begin narrowing down suspects- and memorized the stolen items for later. He was missing something, or not connecting a dot somewhere, but it would come to him eventually.

Things slid into place that night as he suited up; a flash of something blue from Caitlin's work station and the pilfered chemicals clicked into place, just as the alarm for Leonard Snart's cold gun went off. Captain Cold had removed the tracking device Cisco installed, but there was no way to disguise the gun discharging in the open- temperature and barometric settings gave him away easily enough. With a parting snark from Cisco, Barry sped off to see what his favourite resurrected nemesis was up to. Snart was actually his  _only_  recently-deceased, back-from-the-dead nemesis, and it was hard to even think of him as that. The bad guy part, anyway. Not with everything he'd been told about Snart's brief adventures on the Waverider.

So he was more excited than anything to see what the thief was up to, what modifications he'd made to the cold gun to make their encounters even more interesting. He wasn't expecting to get blasted once he stepped out of the Speed Force, nearly frozen solid against a wall of ice. And why was there ice… and snow, indoors?

The scene materialized around him as the warming threads in his suit kicked in automatically, bringing his body temperature steadily up and melting the ice. The interior of the old condo or townhouse was like a winter wonderland: everything was coated in either snow or ice and a gentle flurry started while Barry defrosted himself. Snart was near the center of the room, bundled up even more than usual, his face obscured by the fluffy hood of his parka. His stance was tense, even beneath the layers; Barry was reminded of a piano wire or guitar string. The cold air crackled around him, spreading out once he thawed and stepped free of the melting ice, and a crack of thunder echoed around the room.  _Warm air meeting cold_ , Barry grinned when the snowfall nearest him turned to rain.

He was getting a joke ready, running through scores of temperature puns in a matter of seconds, when Snart spoke. His voice was as brittle as the frosty air and sounded strained, almost pained. "Get outta here, Flash."

"Love what you've done with the place, Cold," Barry returned, grinning and giving the room another glance for show. "Really rushing Christmas in July this year." If Snart thought his quip was funny, he didn't show it. His mouth was just visible when Barry took a few steps closer- a thin line, lips pale and tinted blue. Concern pinched Barry's face under the mask. "Hey- are you okay? What happened in here?"

"I got this," Snart growled. "Beat it. Now."

"Wasn't too hard to figure it was you who robbed the cryo lab," Barry tried again, inching closer, his muscles protesting the cold and exaggerated slowness. "You were upgrading the gun, right? Something went wrong, blew up, caused all this. Are you okay? Do you need to get to a hospital, or-?"

"Said I got this. Last chance before I make you leave."

"Geez, you're a lousy host. But this was pretty sloppy, especially for you, so you understand why I'm concern-  _yipes!_ " Barry just managed to doge the blast of arctic air that was fired at him. It was harder to move in so much cold, but he was able to slow time enough to see that Snart wasn't holding his signature weapon, nor was the cold gun anywhere in sight. "…What happened to you?"

"I'm handling it, Barry!" Snart's hood had blown back and revealed just how out of control the situation was. Barry had seen corpses in better condition and for a frightening, heart-stuttering moment, thought that Snart had died again.

"You're really not." Barry started moving towards him once more, but had to stumble out of the way of another blast. And they kept coming; Snart's eyes were wild and his expression more open and raw than Barry had ever seen it as shot after shot of organic cold beam was fired from his blackened hands. He couldn't stop himself and they both realized it. "But you can," Barry shouted over the howling wind that sprung up between them. The freezing air met the heat pouring off Barry and another clap of thunder sounded before the moisture fell to the snow-covered floor.

"You can do this, Snart," Barry encouraged, trudging closer, one hand outstretched. "Just- focus. Calm down. I know you can do this."

He was reminded of when his Meta powers had manifested, and of Cisco and especially Caitlin. If he could get Snart to… cool down, he could find a way to convince him to go to STAR Labs. They could help him, maybe even figure out what had gone wrong with the chemicals and cold gun and reverse it.

Snart had gotten the intensity of the blasts to lessen, lowering his arms enough that Barry could move closer and then step up beside him. He didn't say anything else, afraid of wrecking Snart's concentration and of the naked terror on the other man's face. This was so much worse than when Snart had killed his own father. Seconds ticked into minutes and slowly the blast winked out, Snart's arms falling slack at his sides. He would have collapsed into the snow drift he was standing in if Barry hadn't caught him. It was easy to wrap his arms around the shaking man, support him and hold him close.

"You're trembling," Barry muttered, mostly to himself. Snart didn't have a reply, but his stiff arms moved to keep Barry where he was.

The snow stopped eventually, tapering off in a gust of cool wind. They both startled when the heat threads in Barry's suit activated again, triggered by the freezing temperature of Snart's body. Barry laughed, his breath a halo around Snart's head, and he felt Snart's tremors subside. He wanted to say something, some comfort or congratulations, but he didn't have the words and figured Snart wouldn't want them, anyway. It was enough to hold him, assure himself that for the moment, everything would be okay.

"I'm Jewish," Snart croaked into Barry's shoulder. There was a beat, Barry's mind tripping over itself to figure out what Snart could possibly be referring to, and then he recalled his earlier commentary.

The only thing he could think to reply was, "Okay." Just like everything probably would be.


	2. ColdFlashWave - Arrested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialog Prompt: ColdFlashWave, "We could get arrested for this." Prompted by [blue_wonderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wonderer/pseuds/blue_wonderer).
> 
> Barry and Mick have been dating for, oh, a while now. Len has recently joined them and in a (possibly ill-advised) attempt to better integrate himself, bets that Barry can't steal something without loads of assistance. Details are ironed out, addenda are made, and Barry and Mick find themselves on a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story tags: Established Relationship, Barry Allen/Mick Rory/Leonard Snart. No warnings for this one.

"Ever since we started dating Len, you never take my side," Barry pouts, half his attention on the numbers lighting up above the elevator.

"Took your side last night." Mick reminds him. Barry rolls his eyes.

" _Okay_ \- you never support me about non-food-related things."

Mick offers a shrug that might be an apology but is probably him saying "what are you gonna do?" It's 3 a.m. and they're standing in the poorly-lit lobby of a run-down apartment building in what is the worst neighborhood Barry has ever seen. He's investigated his share of crimes that were committed in places like this, but the six-story structure at the end of Main Street Extension takes the trophy for "Most Awful Apartment Complex" by a landslide. It's a building Barry would only ever visit as a crime scene and he almost asks himself, out loud, what he's doing there on his day off.

" _Getting cold feet, Barry?_ "

But he doesn't need to, because there's Len, over the "borrowed" communication device in his ear, goading him forward with his awful, awful puns.

"Just waitin' for the elevator, boss," Mick answers via his connection. "You know these old buildings."

" _Why don't you take the stairs? I'm sure it's_ faster _._ "

"Does it physically harm you to keep those to yourself?" Barry demands, more fond than exasperated. He's almost used to his other boyfriend's word play at this point.

"… _Yes. Yes it does. Snap to it,_ Flash _\- only got ten minutes and thirty-eight seconds before your window of opportunity closes._ "

" _Now_  you mention a time limit!" Barry throws his arms up and turns away from the elevator that seems to have stalled out on the third floor. Mick follows, leaning forward to open the stairwell door for him. Barry gives him a smile over his shoulder and takes off up the stairs at nearly-Flash speed. He'll have to pick the lock at regular speed- he can't chance leaving behind anything that will tie what he's doing there this morning to the Flash... or himself- which will give Mick plenty of time to catch up.

Barry does his best to discreetly walk the length of the hall, listening at every door for anyone who might be awake-  _Those're called "witnesses", Barry,_  he can imagine Len's smug voice- before stopping at his destination. Fortunately, room Five on the fifth floor is the last door and the apartment opposite is unoccupied. As he takes the small kit out of his pocket and sets to picking the lock, he wonders if Len chose this place to go easy on him. He appreciates a little bit more than resents that, if it's the case.

"Y'wanna use the three-quarters; pick that size'll make noise and take twice as long."

Nodding his thanks and pleased that he didn't startle when Mick snuck up on him, Barry switches out the delicate, thin, metal rod for an even slimmer one.

" _What did I say about helping, Mick?_ "

"'Limited assistance'," Mick replies with a smirk. "Never said what your definition of 'limited' was."

" _Just whose side are you on here?_ "

"Mine."

Barry waves a hand. "Shut up- I got it. I'm in."

"Good job," Mick whispers at the same time as Len hisses, " _Don't tell me what to do_ " over their comms.

Barry eases the door open and squints into the gloom beyond the threshold. He knows he has roughly six or seven minutes left, but he has to be extra careful at this stage. If he gets caught, it's all over.

"God, we could get arrested for this," he mutters to himself.

"You  _could_ ," Len muses. " _I'm nowhere near you and Mick's got at least three escape routes all planned out._ "

"Four if I can torch the place-"

" _No!_ " Barry and Len say at the same time, though Barry is more concerned to Len's amused.

" _Six minutes, twenty seconds,_ " Len reminds them.

"Okay, I got this. I can do this. I got this."

"Less talkin', more doin'," is all the warning Mick gives before shoving Barry forward into the apartment. He stumbles to a halt a few feet inside and that's it, he's done it- he's broken and entered. He is officially, in the eyes of the law, a criminal. At least as the Flash he had a mask and was doing way more good than harm (usually); but as Barry Allen, standing in a building he didn't get buzzed into, inside an apartment he picked the lock on and does not have a key to, he is one hundred percent in the wrong and in trouble.

"You're only in trouble if you get caught," Barry whispers. He's immediately reminded of and starts picturing the chase scene and "One Jump Ahead", from  _Aladdin_. He fights back a giggle- one that would be tinged with more than a little hysteria- and slinks further into the room. He just needs to choose one thing, one item in the entire place. The floor plan for the building showed every apartment was set-up the same: living room leading to open kitchen, with bedroom and full bath just beyond that. Barry glances around, looking for something small enough to not be missed right away, but large enough to meet the qualifications.

" _Four minutes_ ," Len says. Barry imagines him dressed as a high school gym teacher and holding a stop watch. …He's going to bring that up for a later role play, if he makes it out of this place.

It takes him another few seconds to notice that the interior of the apartment does not at all match the building exterior. The floor doesn't squeak and groan as he moves at an elderly snail's pace and the furnishings are borderline extravagant, while still managing to be tasteful. There's a homeyness to the over-stuffed couch and armchair and that 60-inch TV looks brand new. The few colors he can make out in the light that filters in from the street through the blinds are shades of beige, copper and gold. The carpet he creeps across is so plush, he can practically feel the price tag on it. And there it is, on the modern, metal (gold? Is that solid gold?) coffee table- something small and that doesn't immediately look to have any kind of sentimental value. But who is Barry to say what the little knick-knack could mean to Room number Five's occupant?

" _Three minutes, ten-_ "

"I got it. Heading out and see you soon." It's on his tongue to chant 'winner winner, chicken dinner', but he knows Len will make fun of him. Or use the impromptu victory song as Barry's payment for succeeding in this task. Just like Len to twist words and a bet around.

It's way easier to slip out of the place and lock up and Barry almost starts whistling as he walks more comfortably down the hall. He turns around, walking backwards and grinning at Mick, anticipating rubbing this win in Len's face, and almost bumps into someone that he never heard exit the elevator.

"Oh geez, sorry- Lisa!? What are you doing here?"

\---

"From  _your own sister_? I wanna say I thought you were better than that, but I honestly have no idea, anymore."

Barry can easily envision Len rolling his eyes from behind the newspaper he's been pretending to read- or actually reading, he's a great multi-tasker- since he and Mick burst in.

"Not gonna let you keep it." Len's placating, almost condescending tone just sets Barry further on edge. He flashes across the room and snatches the paper out of Len's hands. Somewhere between the door and the kitchen area, Mick snorts out a laugh. Len just stares up at Barry expectantly, hands folding over his stomach.

"I wasn't gonna keep it no matter who I'd taken it from," Barry assures him. "Did you really think so little of me that you sent me to someplace you knew to steal from?"

"Thought you'd chicken out halfway there," Len admits with a shitty smirk. "I had a nice consolation prize planned, something to boost your ego, make you feel all accomplished. Too bad you lost anyway."

"Uh, no I didn't?" Barry pulls the object out of his jacket pocket and tosses it from one hand to the other. He hefts it pointedly at Len. "I got in, grabbed this  _and_  got out with nobody seeing me or calling the cops."

"Lisa saw you, and I guarantee she put two and two together. And  _I_  helped you get in," Len says primly. Mick raises the beer in his hand to argue, but stops, lowering it slowly as he mentally goes over the past hour again.

"No, you didn't," Barry laughs. "Mick was the one who… Aw,  _damnit_." He deflates as he recalls the hints Len had been giving him half the night and that he'd immediately acted on without a second thought.

"If it weren't for me, you dopes would still be waiting for that elevator."

"I'd'a probably taken the stairs around the five minute mark," Mick adds churlishly.

Len sits up a little higher on the cushions, linking his fingers behind his head and gracing Barry and Mick with a truly infuriating smile. "Just goes to show that I'm the brains and you're both here, too."

Mick passes his beer to Len and Barry continues to glower as Len accepts the bottle, lifting it for a sip. The world slows- to Barry, at least- and understanding dawns as he watches in gleeful slow-motion as Mick tips the couch over, Len's legs still propped up on the arm. There's even a second of bafflement on Len's face before he's sprawled on the floor, covered with the sofa. Barry returns to real-time and observes a trickle of beer leak out from under the couch.

"How's that for takin' your side?" Mick asks Barry with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing really to add for this one, it came together pretty well, I think.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna level with you- I didn't originally want to share these off tumblr. I don't tend to think my prompts are that good, especially these stand-alone ones that won't be continued or added to. But since tumblr is being slowly abandoned, I figured there might be people who would like this kind of thing, but wouldn't ever see it, if it were just on that website. So here you go.
> 
> There are a _shit-ton_ of notes over on the tumblr post, but I'm too lazy to share them here. [There's also a mood/aesthetic board on the post, if you're into that kinda thing](http://tobyaudax.tumblr.com/post/183067260621/coldflash-24). This pretty much ignores anything that happened in Flash seasons 4 and 5, since I quit watching right after Barry was framed for murdering DeVoe. 
> 
> I don't like to ask for comments. I don't like to expect them; but since this is a series and there will likely be different pairings, if you enjoyed this (and other chapters), please feel free to leave a comment. Just because you can't multiple-kudos on a story/each chapter. Even if you just wanna put "Kudos" in the comment box, that is 100% A-okay!  
> Thanks for reading!


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